Page 27 of Vampire Lee

“You’re not a pink kind of girly.” She barked a laugh. “You might be right.” She looked around. “Good night?”

He didn’t think she was asking about the crowd. “A bit weird.”

Something flashed in her eyes. “In here now?”

He shook his head and moved toward a woman calling for Vampire Lee at the other end of the bar.

Sometime later, Eli showed up, and he looked like shit. Lee caught Hanna’s gaze, trying to alert her before focusing on Eli.

“Eli! Come over to this side.” He motioned for him to squeeze in next to Hanna. There was no available stool, and Hanna’s neighbor glared at Lee as he motioned for Eli to cram in, but Lee ignored it. “Still nothing from…” Fuck, what was his name Zeke? Zion? “…your man?”

Eli jerked as if Lee had slapped him. “My…?”

“Your partner at work, is he back?”

Eli shook his head. Lee hadn’t needed the confirmation. He’d guess Eli hadn’t slept at all since they’d spoken last.

Hanna gave Lee a questioning look but didn’t speak.

“I’m only reaching voice mail when I’m calling now. Battery dead, perhaps.”

Fuck.

Chapter 8

Dillon watered all his plastic cups and looked for something sprouting—nothing yet, but he guessed it was to be expected. Had it been two days? Three? Time blurred together.

He was so tired the room swam before him. Or maybe it was because he hadn’t eaten. Had he had lunch? He couldn’t remember, but he was certain he hadn’t had dinner.

Food. He needed some food. After years of only eating once a day, it was hard to get back into some kind of food routine. Especially since he wanted to avoid the others, and they were eating non-stop, always in the kitchen.

He needed nutrition.

With a deep breath, he abandoned his plastic cups with his soon-to-be plants and headed down the stairs. The house was quiet, and he carefully neared the kitchen.

When he looked in through the doorway, he spotted Murrie at the table with a glass of red wine and a stack of papers in front of him. He’d never seen anyone drink in the house. He’d heard them talk about whiskey and beer and so on, so they weren’t sober, and they went to grab a drink in town now and then.

Murrie looked up and gave Dillon a quick smile. “I think there is some leftover lasagna if you’re hungry.”

What time was it? Shouldn’t Murrie be in bed? Was everyone else in bed? He moved toward the refrigerator, and Murrie was right, there was a tinfoil-covered pan of lasagna. He grabbed a plate, cut a piece, and put it in the microwave.

“If you were doing something illegal—” Dillon stiffened at Murrie’s voice. “—and wanted an audience to find you but not the authorities, where would you host it?” His tone was distracted, and he didn’t look at Dillon.

“The fighting ring?”

Murrie glanced at him over his shoulder. “You know about that?” Surprise was written all over his face.

“Lee told me he’d heard something weird at work and told you.”

Murrie nodded. “Come sit.” He gestured at the opposite side of the table from him. “Do you want a glass of wine?”

“A glass of wine?” It had been years, several years since he had anything with alcohol. “Eh…”

“It goes well with the lasagna. There are wine glasses in the corner cupboard.”

Dillon grabbed a wine glass from the corner cupboard and neared the table. Murrie reached for the bottle and poured dark red wine into it at the same time as the microwave pinged.

Dillon grabbed the plate and cutlery and sat across from Murrie. He waited for panic to take hold, but it didn’t. He wouldn’t say he was calm exactly, but he wasn’t shaking and sweating.

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